The Last Guardian: The Shocking Truth About Trico - IGN First

Shafts of bright sunshine from high above pierce through the darkness, casting dappled light on the hulking chains that curl about the floor of the cave. Butterflies flitter above them, oblivious to the enormous animal the chain snakes towards, and the harness around its neck. The creature is lying still, wounded; two spears jut out from vermillion-stained feathers.

It’s not dead, however, and as I tentatively move toward it, the beast rears its head and grows agitated, snapping at me if I approach from the front and casting about to keep me in view if I approach from the side. It’s clearly in pain, however, and I decide to take a chance and climb onto its hindquarters, to where a spear is lodged, just below what appears to be broken armour plating on its back.

I pull and pull, eventually tugging it free. The creature howls in pain, then lashes out, catching me with a talon, and sending me flying into the wall of the cave. I pass out.

This may sting a little.

These are the opening moments of The Last Guardian. Much like Ico, Fumito Ueda’s seminal PS2 game, you play as a small boy, paired with a mysterious being – a companion, but in many ways unknowable. In this instance, it is a towering chimera: part bird, part dog, part who knows what.

You’ve awoken in a cave, with no recollection of how you got there and strange markings on your arms. The “man-eating beast” - Trico - lies nearby, in pain and unable to stand, a heavy collar around its neck and armour-plating across its forehead and down its back. With no way to escape, and feeling sympathy for the creature – despite its formidable size and reputation – you set out to help it.

Softly, softly.

Trust is one of the key themes of The Last Guardian, and this intimate sequence is centred firmly on the beginnings of the relationship between the boy and the beast. Trico will never be entirely tamed, but in these moments he’s as wild to the boy as he ever will be, and it’s up to you to work out how to help him.

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Trust is one of the key themes of The Last Guardian.

Well, kind of. The Last Guardian’s story is framed by an enjoyably sonorous narration – the player character recounting events as an older man - so we get overt hints about what to do next. That’s not a bad thing, as the mechanics of gaining Trico’s trust are certainly less interesting than seeing how the pair interact; the emergent moments that really show off just how believable Trico is as an animal, and just how gloriously observed his animations are.

Exit Theatre Mode

There’s a reason the opening sequence is set in a cave – the setting, along with the narration, keeps the focus on the two central characters. It means you’ll pay attention to how Trico responds as you tend to his wounds and satiate his hunger. You’ll get a better sense of his size and bearing when he’s able to stand to his full height. And you’ll start to see his personality when he scratches his ear, nuzzles up to you or dashes madly between rooms when you call him.

It also means that when you do eventually step out into the wider world, the sense of scale is all the more impressive.

Trico is a hugely ambitious creation.

This opening sequence is much as I imagined it might be: gaining Trico’s trust, tossing barrels of food for him to eat, tending to his wounds and working together to reach a previously inaccessible ledge. Once I crawl through the small opening atop the ledge and work my way down a rocky passage, however, The Last Guardian throws in a massive curve ball.

I find myself in what could almost be a primitive temple: a large circular room with a high domed ceiling, a shallow pool of water in the centre and ethereal blue lighting. It’s here that I discover a mirror made of a mysterious substance, and when I re-emerge, Trico’s eyes react to it, dilating and flashing through different colours. I’ve started to understand that his eye colour is a reflection of his emotional state – red, for instance, meaning anger or wariness – so this is clearly an object of significance.

You can see the mirror device on the boy's back.

I hold the mirror out, focusing the green beam that shoots forth on a blockage up ahead, and red lightning explodes from Trico’s tail, striking the boulders and shattering them.

In this moment everything I thought I knew about The Last Guardian is re-arranged.

The battle armour, the wounds – I’d assumed a grim past for Trico, but is he actually a weapon that the holder of the mirror wields? Is this the reason for his fearsome reputation? After all, the legend of the beast my character has heard “many times from the elder” seems at odds with what I know of him. Up to this point he has been quite timid, with hints of playfulness.

Not so playful now.

It also fundamentally changes our relationship; the coaxing and calling that has characterised our interactions to this point replaced by a command I can directly give that Trico will unquestioningly obey. It’s a stark shift, and I’m not too sure how I feel about inheriting this power – even if I am just using it to clear the path ahead.

Exit Theatre Mode

The introduction of the mirror so early in the game, of course, is very deliberate. It is designed to reveal the power and potential violence of Trico and to change how the player sees their companion. It is a storytelling and world-building choice, as opposed to being driven by game design, and I wouldn’t be surprised to see it stripped from the player for much of The Last Guardian.

Moving forward over the rubble, we venture along dark rocky paths which eventually open into a spectacular space: we’re perched on a landing high up in an enormous cave, with an underground lake below, and a waterfall dropping beside a grassy glade illuminated by bright sunlight off on the far wall.

A new space revealed.

There’s no way but down, and I dive into the water, then turn to call Trico. He leans forward as if to jump, talons gripping the cliff edge, but won’t take the plunge.

"Here Fuzzball!"

I think back to last year’s E3 demo, during which the boy jumped on the spot to tell Trico to leap across a chasm, so I attempt to show him what to do, by climbing back up the cliff and clambering up him. Turns out he doesn’t want me trying to leap from his head and I fall. At the last second he catches me by the scruff of the neck. It’s every bit as cool as you think it might be.

He drops me into the water for good measure.

Thankfully the boy can swim.

I obviously don’t have enough of a bond with Trico yet to act out what I want him to do, so I explore. I use his mysterious power to destroy a section of wooden scaffolding blocking access to another area, and eventually lure him into the water using barrels of food.

Seeing a creature this size leaping into an underground lake is genuinely thrilling, as is holding on tight as we climb our way out of the cavernous space and into a new passage.

The only way to climb.

Before long we reach the end of the path, and the boy goes to squeeze through a crevice in the rock wall, into the sunshine beyond. Before he does, however, he turns back to say goodbye, a wave of tenderness and sadness passing across his face.

He thinks they’re parting company, but as he emerges into the open air, Trico scrabbles through a gap high up in the rock wall to follow him. United again, we walk to the cliff edge and look out on the vast ruins. Directly ahead, an impossibly large tower looms over us, and arcane symbols hang in the air. Trico rears back onto his hind legs, distressed, and howls.

It's going to be okay. I hope.

The vista is truly intimidating and I’m glad Trico is by my side. He may just be the only thing I can rely on in this unknowable place.

Cam Shea is senior editor in IGN’s Australian office, and this is just the start of his The Last Guardian content – stay tuned for a behind the scenes feature and more videos over the next few days.